


Life Begins Anew

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Series: Canticle [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, but only mentioned very briefly!, well mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More stuttering!Cullen.  Because reasons.</p><p>Actually, because <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4410104/comments/41097253">someone asked</a> if I had thought about writing another story in this series, showing Dorian and Cullen's next time together.  I read the comment, thought, "Nope, not really planning on it," opened up my file to work on <em>Only True in Fairy Tales</em>, and wrote this instead.  So it's not my fault chapter 25 still isn't done!  I fought valiantly against this plot bunny, really I did.</p><p>...OK, no I didn't.</p><p>Anyway...not exactly their next time together, but close enough (I hope).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Begins Anew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [green_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_tea/gifts).



> The reference to past non-con (if you're worried about it) is very brief, kind of a "blink and you might miss it" sort of thing.
> 
> Also, editing was pretty cursory, so if you see something, feel free to point it out.

Dorian takes his time.

Because he has that luxury now, in such supply that sometimes it no longer seems like a luxury. He has time to do things because he wants to do them, rather than because he must: he can waste an afternoon reading poetry, or researching the history of something other than darkspawn, or even--when there's no one around to catch him--tearing avidly through one of Varric's horrid and mesmerizing bits of trash masquerading as a novel. A few days ago, he was actually _bored_ for a little while. It was strange, and its own antidote once he realized what he was feeling: how interesting, to have time to be bored.

He's not bored now, though, not with Cullen stretched across his-- _their_ \--bed, face flushed and cock wet from Dorian's mouth. Dorian can still taste him, and it's tempting to return to that, to spend the afternoon tormenting him, sucking him until he weeps and begs for his release, until Dorian can taste nothing but him. Until the smell of him is all over Dorian's skin, lingering for hours.

"Dorian," Cullen whispers, almost pleading, and Dorian smiles.

"Hush, amatus," he says, kissing the inside of Cullen's knee where it rests over his shoulder. "I want to watch you enjoy this, and there's no need to hurry."

Because he has time: with Corypheus dead and the Inquisition settling into something like a routine, its commander can take an afternoon for himself. He can ignore his paperwork to wander into the library, to take the book from Dorian's hand and whisper in his ear, "I want you to fuck me," with only the barest trace of a stutter. More than a trace of a blush, even if no one was close enough to hear them, but the blush is so much a part of him that Dorian loves it, too.

"Are you sure?" Dorian asked him, and he almost stuttered himself. It's the one thing they haven't done in the weeks since that first night together. Dorian has no desire to rush, not when Cullen has never done it before, and there have been so many other possibilities to explore that it's not as if he missed it.

"You wanted t-time," Cullen said then, leaning over Dorian's chair in the library so that his body blocked everything else out. "Is all afternoon long enough?"

"Maybe," Dorian said with a smile, his cock already growing hard.

And now they're here, both of them naked, sweat gleaming on Cullen's skin in the warm afternoon sunlight. His eyes are lust-dark, without any of the anxiety Dorian has spent the last hour soothing away, and without any sign of pain. Instead, he looks eager, desperate, his cock beautiful and hard against his belly, his hands laid over Dorian's where they curl around his thighs.

"Tell me if you need me to stop," Dorian murmurs, shifting his grip to drag Cullen's hips higher.

"Less stopping," Cullen says. Then he makes a long, low noise as the head of Dorian's cock presses into him.

Dorian would make the same noise if he could only catch his breath, but it turns out that the only sight better than Cullen lying in their bed with his cock hard is Cullen lying in their bed with his cock hard and his ass taking in Dorian's cock one perfect inch at a time.

"All right?" Dorian manages, his fingers digging in as he forces himself to wait, to let Cullen adjust.

"Less stopping!" Cullen says again, more forcefully.

Dorian laughs, though it's almost a gasp, and does as ordered, rolling his hips forward until the two of them are pressed together as close as it's possible to be. His eyes try to squeeze shut but he forces them open so he can watch Cullen's face, enjoying the way his eyes and his mouth widen. Still no sign that he's in pain, or even uncomfortable, and when Dorian is buried inside him, he groans softly.

"Maker's breath," he gasps. "Move!"

A command Dorian is happy to obey, though he's careful at first, so careful Cullen huffs out a surprisingly exasperated breath and says, "I won't b-break, Dorian!"

Dorian leans down to kiss him, bending him almost in half, and Cullen makes another of those low groans, this time into Dorian's mouth.

"Amatus," Dorian whispers, suddenly afraid to move for fear of somehow destroying this impossible perfection that he's done nothing to earn.

One of Cullen's hands twines through his hair in a gesture Dorian normally wouldn't allow, but his hair is already a mess and Cullen's hand feels so good that he tilts his head backward into it.

"Dorian." Cullen's voice is rough, strained. "I love you, b-but if you d-don't move soon..."

Another laughing kiss to silence him, then Dorian begins to move in earnest, rocking forward and back in steady strokes, changing his angle by gradual degrees until he finds the one that makes Cullen twist and choke, his hands clenching into fists. He loosens them almost immediately, mumbling an apology and petting the back of Dorian's head shakily, stroking the scalp where he tugged so hard. Before he can do much of that, Dorian thrusts in again, trying to hit that same angle, and Cullen moans again, dropping his hands to the sheets to have something to hold on to.

Dorian catches one of Cullen's hands and guides it to his cock, encouraging him to stroke himself. That's worth watching all by itself, and for a little while, Dorian does exactly that: just holds Cullen's hips hard against his own, entranced by the way Cullen's fingers twist and clutch to make his body tremble. To make both their bodies tremble.

Before Cullen can chide him again for stopping, Dorian resumes his earlier pace, gradually picking up speed until skin is meeting skin with a sharp slap every time. Cullen is moaning almost constantly now, his hand working his cock so hard it looks like it must hurt, except it's clear he's not in pain. His free hand is fisted in the sheets, and every time his hips thrust down to meet Dorian, his moans break on a whimper before picking up again, growing frantic as Dorian feels himself slipping closer to the edge.

Cullen isn't normally loud during sex, but this time, he cries out as he spills across his stomach, writhing under Dorian as if the sensations running through him are too intense for him to keep still. It's impossible to watch him and feel nothing, and Dorian's head tips back as he follows him over, hips jerking as he forgets everything except Cullen and the overwhelming pleasure bursting inside him.

He almost falls over afterward, and only just manages to let Cullen's legs down gently, rather than dropping them. For his part, Cullen is still breathing as if he's run up and down the stairs to the library a dozen or so times, his body shaking. Dorian watches that, too, enjoying it in a different--if no less self-satisfied--way until Cullen tugs him down to the mattress.

Glad now that he planned ahead, Dorian gropes around beside the bed until his questing hand finds the rag he left there before they started. His hands are still shaking, but cleaning them both off is hardly a task that requires significant amounts of dexterity, and soon enough he can wrap himself around Cullen while Cullen does the same to him.

Sex is nothing new to Dorian, but this? This is painfully new: gentle hands stroking his back, touching him not to arouse but to soothe, combing lightly through his hair before trailing down his spine in a feather-light caress. Cullen touches him as if he is something to be treasured, rather than used and discarded, and Dorian...

...Dorian is learning to accept it.

"Is it always like that?" Cullen asks, when his breath is no longer rattling in his throat and his limbs are no longer twitching.

Dorian tucks his face into Cullen's shoulder to hide his expression, thinking of his own varied experiences. Sometimes it was good, but more often it was simply a release, and occasionally it wasn't even that. He remembers far too many rough hands, and a few that were more than rough. Who was he going to complain to, after all, if anything went too far?

Not that Cullen needs to know any of that, because Dorian will be sure he never experiences any of those casual, thoughtless brutalities.

He kisses the underside of Cullen's jaw, lightly. "Yes," he whispers, brushing his lips over the skin just to feel stubble catch. "Yes, it will always be like that."


End file.
